


Love Thy Enemy (Sonder)

by astoldbyc



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: AU, Angst, BAMFs, Brainwashing, Canon Divergence, Dark Annabeth, Dark Jason, Dark Percy, Dystopia, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, HEAVY OOC, Heavy Angst, I mean it, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Manipulation, Mentions of self-harm, Multi, Murder, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Torture, Toxic/Unhealthy Relationships, Tragedy, Violence, blood/gore, corrupt government, demigods are being hunted, everyone is morally fucked up tbh, implicit smut, ish, mortals are their own warning, no really, the Battle of Manhattan ended differently, the Giant War never happened, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25310698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astoldbyc/pseuds/astoldbyc
Summary: dystopian au in which the Mist has dissolved and demigods are being hunted to extinction. the line between right and wrong is brittle, morality is blurred, and age-old secrets are unveiled when annabeth, the co-leader of a band of insurgents, crosses paths with a green-eyed enemy whose sole mission is to end her life.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Carter Kane/Zia Rashid, Hazel Levesque/Leo Valdez/Frank Zhang, Katie Gardner/Travis Stoll, Magnus Chase/Alex Fierro, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Past Jason Grace/Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano, Sadie Kane/Walt Stone, best friends with benefits Annabeth Chase/Jason Grace, eventual Jason Grace/Piper McLean, unrequited Luke Castellan/Annabeth Chase (one sided)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Love Thy Enemy (Sonder)

**Author's Note:**

> so sorry for this monster of a chapter. i promise that this won't be the norm.  
> this chapter is basically a pilot. i want to see how much traction it gets before I post anymore. 
> 
> hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. I'm making approx. $0 off this fic. All rights to RR.

**Chapter One**

" _Absent gods and silent tyranny..._

_Running from the ghosts and shadows the world just disavows."_

_-Mercy, Muse_

**Albany Underground | 2046**

_176 seconds, 175 seconds, 174 seconds, 173, 172, 171…_

Her arms are slack, chained by a rope smothered in ichor that burns into her skin like wolfsbane. And yes, her mouth is forcibly shut by the duct tape that presses against her lips, but Annabeth still grins when the door slams open. _Took them long enough._ Her knees sway and she tilts her head, strands of hair falling into her face. The demigod's attention lands on the frontman of the band of hunters that's entered the glorified prison cell.

She doesn't recognize him, but the ashy grey military uniform and metallic pins dressing the lapels give more truth to his status than his face ever could. All's well that starts well.

His dark gaze scans the room, eyes coursing over the small group of demigods that lay about, subdued, behind tempered glass and barred cages lined with their own Kryptonite. Absentmindedly does he address the subordinate that perches in his shadow. "Looks like your team made a good hunt today," he compliments.

The subordinate straightens his back, a faint sliver of pride brightening the dips and planes of his face. "Th-thank you, sir."

Then, like a magnetic force that pulls a needle to face North, the hunter's head swivels, catching sight of Annabeth, who sits, cageless and tied up, in the center of the room. His eyes narrow and he approaches her, scanning her form up and down. His attention falls to her scar. "What's this one's power?" He grunts to no one in particular.

Annabeth shifts her attention to the scientist who clings to the outskirts of the room, half-hidden in the shadows. Their eyes meet through the dim darkness and he stiffens as she stares at him expectantly. The demigod offers him a haughty wink, her smile stretching the tape that pulls at her skin, when he winces.

"We don't know yet, sir." The scientist murmurs. His ginger hair appears sable in the muted shine of the fluorescent lights as he drags his range of view away from Annabeth to stare at the nape of the head hunter's neck. "Excluding the scarring surrounding her eye and the abnormal heterochromia and iris pigment, she hasn't shown any signs of mutations or genetically deviant behavior." Then, to further cement himself in his purpose to pay her no mind, the scientist pulls a notepad from his pocket to study Mitchell and Sadie.

Mitchell gives him a once-over, his irises pulsing with power as he approaches the ichor-soaked bars of his cage. His pink hair glimmers in the aurulent fog. _Call me,_ he mouths. His expression is sarcastic, teasing, but still the scientist backs away, fear prevalent and swirling in the currents of his eyes.

"Good enough." The head hunter registers his words, chin dipping with a nod, still staring at Annabeth. His nostrils flare when he continues. "There's no rush. We have all the time in the world to smoke this one out." He leans over her, "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

She can't keep in her eye roll. Truly, she can't. It's a battle that she loses, giving way to the existence of their surmounting cockiness that still hasn't changed in over 25 years.

He hums to himself, recognizing the look that passes over her face. After a few more seconds staring, his gruff voice breathes out a warning that amuses her. "Don't try anything." The hunter rips the duct tape from her mouth.

She flexes her jaw. Once satisfied, Annabeth speaks for the first time in hours while casting the hunter a snarky grin. "You seem pretty confident in yourself about that one." An eyebrow quirks and she shrugs with nonchalance, the movement that glides the firmness of her shoulders hyperbolic due to the immobility of her hands. "Maybe you got the wrong girl… _Sergeant._ "

_119 seconds, 118, 117…_

She's well aware that she's addressed him by the wrong title, but it's the reaction that she hopes to gauge that matters.

And his reaction is exactly the one that she seeks. The hunter's eyes thin into slits as his hand falls to the gun strapped to his waist. "Don't speak unless spoken to, _deviant_."

Her smirk widens as she only hums in response. Motionlessly, Annabeth begins to fiddle with the ropes that dig into her wrists, desensitized to the burn that the ichor gives her skin. "So," she aims her speech at the two other hunters that stand guard at the door, "What do you plan on doing with us? I heard waterboarding for answer's _fun_."

They fidget uncomfortably, reaching for their weapons as the demigod stares at them with a passive expression that clashes with her words. Annabeth scans their forms for any weaknesses to exploit. A flourish of satisfaction swells in her chest when she notices that one of the novitiates can't keep his gaze from Mitchell for more than a second or two, his eyes studying the pink-haired demigod in a manner that's more useful to her than him.

_Gotcha._

The head hunter grits his teeth before barking over his shoulder. "Don't answer that. Don't entertain her." Then, turning back to the blonde, he crouches in front of her. "You're powerless."

Annabeth tilts her head in the other direction, studying his face silently. She wonders how he came to that conclusion. Her chin angles downwards when she registers the slight imbalance in the line of his form and she decides to play along, focusing her vision on his forehead. "Well, we both know that if I _did_ have powers…"

She catches Sadie's intense stare through her peripherals, whose irises pierce her through the obscure darkness, accompanied by an almost-amused smile as her form flickers from sight, dissolving into the fabric of space before anchoring again on the plane of reality.

Annabeth resumes focus on the hunter. "...I would be in a cage. No?"

His stare is hard and cruel before his lips drop open in response. "Well, for a deviant without any abilities on her side…" The hunter's lips spread with a snarl as he presses the gun to her temple, the metal burning into her skin, pulsing against her scar, _smoldering._ "You sure got some balls on you. Don't you, sweetheart?"

_90 seconds, 89 seconds, 88, 87..._

Her skin begins to singe, but she grits her teeth and pushes through. "Thanks," Annabeth manages to bite out. "It's a gift." She holds his stare, clenching her jaw, and digs her fingernails into her palms. "But you can't kill me either way."

The agent scowls. "Says the one with the gun pressed to her head-"

"-You have orders to keep me alive. Right?" She grins, glee running through her as her predictions fall into place. He falters at her expression and Annabeth pins her gaze even deeper against his own, feeling her conviction driving into the valleys that run with his blood at the appearance of her sound logic. "That's why you're so tense. You _want_ to kill me. Want to prove to everyone here that you're in charge, that you're ruthless. _Powerful._ " His frown tightens and she almost laughs before pressing on. "But you can't do any of that, can you? Because you want to prove to your uppers that you can handle it and you know that killing me before my powers are known will probably cost you your life if not dropping in ranks."

In response, he digs the gun further into her temple. The scent of broiling flesh and sulfurous ichor clogs her nostrils, but Annabeth is too far gone to care. She has him exactly where she wants him.

"Don't get so angry with me, _Sergeant._ " Her lashes flutter with innocence and she cocks her head, pressing deeper into the metal held against her skull. "Go ahead. No one can stop you."

He backs away, withdrawing the weapon from the outcrops of her forehead as he pales. "Don't get- _stop it._ You're, you're trying to get into my head."

_I'm already there, and you made it far too easy._

Her countenance is chilly as she regards him. Annabeth can feel every set of eyes that lay on her, the weight causing the air to shift with heaviness as it sinks down on her chest.

The hunters at the door slowly approach the pair, wary and fearful. "Sir, what are your orders?"

The head hunter doesn't respond, instead staring at Annabeth who lounges lazily in her seat. Her fingers begin to pull at the knots that subdue her while she maintains his gaze, eyes boring into his forehead. He backs away, arms taut, aiming the gun in her direction.

_62 seconds, 61 seconds, 60 seconds, 59..._

"Your power. It's mind control, isn't it?" He glares at her, all former poise lost as his eyes take on a crazed edge that elicits a satisfied smirk from the demigod.

Annabeth scrunches her nose. "Am I convulsing right now? Eyes rolled up in my head?" She releases a sigh with a gentle motion of decline. "C'mon, Sarge, I thought we went over this already." The rope goes slack around her wrists. " _I'm powerless._ "

He swallows thickly before barking at his subordinates. "Inject her and move her to a different cell. This is an anomaly that we can't afford to lose." The hunter's eyebrows pinch and he turns back to study her, his expression paved with fury. "We're gonna find out who the fuck you are _one way_ or _another_ , sweetheart."

" _We_?" She laughs as the two agents approach her. "I'm surprised none of you remember me. Has it really been that long?" Annabeth bites her lip. "Mm, how times change, am I right?"

They all still at that, muscles locking as they stare at her through different lenses. Three sets of eyes flicker over her blonde hair and mismatched irises, dragging attention to the veiny scar that webs the right side of her face.

The first agent to recognize her blanches completely, skin draining of blood and disbelief taking root in his nerves. He stutters out, "S-sir, that's- isn't that _Chase?_ "

Fast, faster than anyone can register, the demigod pulls free from her bindings and has the head hunter's neck locked in her grasp. "I have to say," she makes eye contact with the hunter who finally recognizes her and releases a feral grin. "I'm a bit disappointed with how the Agency's turned out." Then, with a firm jerk of her hands and a sickening crack that fills the room, the hunter crumples to the floor. " _So weak._ "

_39 seconds, 38, 37…_

Screams erupt as the agents watch their officer fall to the ground, his neck sprouting at an angle that isn't compatible with life.

The agent aims his gun, eyes wet with tears that flood over with anger, fear, hatred, as he pulls the trigger. " _You killed him!_ " He screams.

Her scar begins to tingle as time slows around her. Annabeth watches the bullet fire from the gun, watches the agent's lips purse and sway with emotion as the scientist flees the room in search for backup. When she moves, her limbs feel free and weightless, as if she's swimming in mid-air. The demigod knocks the weapon from his hand and grips his temples.

All action resumes its usual speed and the agent cries out at her sudden movement. Annabeth grins down at him coldly, his head still clutched between her fingers. Before his next breath, her knee rises to meet the downwards jerk of his head, bone colliding with cartilage as his nose shatters. She slams him against the wall and the cement divides into cracks like a spider's web, sprouting from the spot where his skull meets the rough material. The agent slumps to the ground, eyes rolled up in his head, blood pooling on his shoulders.

"Took you long enough," Sadie gripes from her position behind bars. "Now hurry up and set us free. I'm getting hungry and restless and Mitchell's being an arse."

Annabeth almost smiles at that. She turns around, her thoughts running through the currents of her memories as she searches for the control panel that should- assuming the Agency hasn't changed- be mounted on the wall towards the back of the room. The demigod succeeds, discovering the object of her search.

_25 seconds, 24, 23…_

The collage of buttons, varying in size, shape, and color, nearly taunts her. Annabeth glances behind her, taking in her surroundings. Three tanks of water, two cages- only one occupied. Her irises scour the colored buttons and she nods inwardly at the sight of two identical buttons, though only one is lit. Her fingers press down on it, and like sweet music, the sound of the cage door swinging open beats against her eardrums.

She casts a glance at the water spirits that remain in their tanks. "We'll try to come back for you." Her expression tightens, disallowing any further emotion to seep into her words like poison. "Sorry."

Then, tossing her hair over her shoulder, Annabeth regards the two demigods that stare back at her, free and unrestrained. She sighs to herself. "You're welcome."

Mitchell's lips and nose scrunch up with confusion as he glances around the room. "I didn't thank you, though-"

_15, 14, 13..._

Sadie interjects, stomping on his foot without breaking Annabeth's stare. " _Thank you,_ Praetor Chase." Then, her eyes shift around nervously. "We should get out soon before-"

The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking halts the words from falling over the edge of her tongue. The trio of demigods stiffen as they turn. It's another agent. His sandy brown hair drips with ichor, seemingly a last ditch attempt to guard himself from their abilities. But judging by the smell, he hadn't used nearly enough.

His chest heaves, veins pulsing with adrenaline, as his hands begin to shake. "You deviants aren't going _anywhere._ " His gloved fingers regrip the metallic weapon. "Backup is already on the way."

Annabeth regards him blankly. He's only a novitiate. She can tell by the coloring of his uniform and the tremble in his stance. _Hell,_ his feet aren't even widely enough parted to root his hold to the ground. His bravado is laughable.

But, on top of all that, she recognizes him as the hunter who couldn't keep his attention away from a certain pink-haired demigod only moments before. Over her shoulder, she calls to the hunter's demise. "Mitch, this one's all yours."

_9, 8, 7..._

Mitchell's smirk is almost audible as he nods. Sadie and Annabeth inhale before plugging their nostrils and holding their breath, already aware of what's to come and having no wish to be subject to it. The demigod brings his hands to his lips before blowing in the hunter's direction. The air in the room takes on a rose shade, and not a moment later does the hunter lower his weapon.

He stares at Mitchell, the newfound object of his affections, with wide, black eyes. He takes a step forward, reaching out.

Mitchel chuckles beneath his breath. "Every time," he whispers. He approaches the agent, his hair gleaming through the dimness, before sidling up behind him. "Hey, baby," he coos, fingers gliding up the planes of his arms.

Annabeth clenches her jaw and tries to not vomit at the sight of the hunter wilting into Mitchell's touch. It's a sight that she doubts she'll ever get accustomed to, but she's been desensitized enough to stomach it. Plus, his abilities have proven to be useful enough in the past.

Mitchell carefully avoids the golden substance that slides down the columns of the hunter's neck. Then, while murmuring sweet nothings into his ear, he pockets his gun.

_3..._

"Mitchell, we have to _go_." Sadie warns, her voice nasally from her fingers pressing her nostrils together. Her tone is bitter incarnate.

The pink-haired demigod nods at her before refocusing his attention on the agent who leans into his touch, eyes glassy and hands roaming in places that wouldn't be groped if all parties were of sound mind.

"Don't forget about me, gorgeous." Mitchell whispers into the hunter's hair. Then, he presses his fingers into the soft spot where the neck and shoulders meet, wincing as his skin grazes a bit of ichor.

_2..._

Unable to fight against the effects of a duressed pressure point, the hunter buckles in Mitchell's grip and falls to the floor.

The rose shade of the atmosphere vanishes.

" _Finally_ ," Sadie grunts. She quickly grips Mitchell and Annabeth's wrists, dissolving into the Duat just as the doors slam open and reinforcements come pouring in, guns blazing. " _Later, fuckers!_ "

_1..._

Their bullets pierce nothing but cement walls. The floor cracks and begins to tremble, the foundation of the prison threatening to collapse in on itself. At the last moment, Annabeth meets the gaze of an agent with a mask pulled over the lower half of his face, turbulent green eyes burning a hole into her. His evident anger ripples through the room.

Then the demigods are gone.

_0._

**________________________________________________**

**Remains of Brooklyn | Hours Later**

Her head _aches._

They cling to the shadows, pressing their bodies into the jagged clefts of shaded buildings as the setting sun casts dark arches over the city landscape. Cocooned in clouds of exhaust fumes and the scents of mold, Brooklyn is a dead zone, save for a few straggling citizens here and there that keep the economy alive and the lights on. But it isn't populated enough to warrant the presence of any patrolling hunters.

Annabeth, Sadie, and Mitchell dart from alley to alley. Their bodies glimmer with an ethereal shine, acting as a beacon to all the world to highlight the fact that they had been born abnormal. That they are, to the core, riddled with deviance. But it's that very straying-from-human-deemed-normality that they idolize in themselves.

It's why they refer to themselves as demi _gods_ , and nothing less.

They are godlike. Even when hiding from their demise and keeping away from the fading sunlight.

"Sades, how's your energy looking?" Mitchell's voice pierces the silence from somewhere behind Annabeth. "I don't think we can make it back to the Lower East Side on foot without getting caught. Lyn's are snitches, last I heard."

The leader spares a fleeting glance thrown over her shoulder to witness Sadie pressing a firm hand to her stomach, her catlike blue eyes fluttering shut as she feels out the energy that flows through her body. Her caramel hair is limp, streaked with dark, crusted-over splotches of blood and red hair dye that offers an air of decadence and danger.

Annabeth glances over the edge of the alley wall, peering into the street. It's mostly deserted, empty of life with the exclusion of the Helpless that linger near sewer entrances, begging for spare change. On every street corner is a Jumbotron, tall spires of electricity and wealth that are too out of place in the crumbling ruins of Brooklyn but are needed for adequate population surveillance.

The foreboding slogan, _E Pluribus Unum,_ is the centerpiece of every one, followed by the Agency's hotline spelled out in glaring red symbols, encouraging every human to call in with any information regarding deviants. The mangled collection of words and numbers are backed by an image of a bald eagle clutching the nation's flag in its talons.

All of it is physical proof, the telltale signs of America's War on Deviance that has only gotten worse in the past two and a half decades.

"Kane," Annabeth calls over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing as she studies the suspicious figure that lingers beneath a flickering streetlight. Its broad shoulders are still as it angles its head, reading the bright screens that break through the darkening haze of twilight.

The younger blonde grunts in response.

Annabeth turns, her stomach growling. "We stay here until your energy is up to par." Then her expression grows cold. "They turned on the cameras on the Jumbotrons. Our powers interfere with the playback."

_Which is exactly what they want._

Sadie nods, her eyes still closed. "I only need a half hour or so." Her countenance is apologetic for it and her teeth sink into the lines of her bottom lip. "Traveling through the Duat from Albany all the way to Brooklyn with two demigods in tow-"

" _-Ugh_ , stop apologizing." Mitchell rolls his eyes as he takes a seat on the grainy asphalt. "We owe you our lives, Sades. Thirty minutes never killed anyone."

Annabeth hums in assent before swiveling to study the figure. Only this time, it's completely gone, like a spider crawling into the cracks of the floorboards and hiding in the walls. The hairs on the back of her neck rise to attention and she frowns. To no one in particular, she breathes out, "How far is Brooklyn House from here?"

Sadie's response is bitter. "Brooklyn House was demolished a few years ago. Carter and I swung by on one of our raids to check up on it, and all that was left was a pile of rubble and an advertisement for real estate."

They all fall silent after that, unable to provoke further conversation. Even after decades of suffering injustices at the hands of humans for crimes they may not have ever committed (their collective memories are a bit spotty, forgive them), it never gets any easier.

From what she's learned, Annabeth knows that the Kane siblings, as well as Walt Stone, Zia Rashid, and several others, spent a large portion of their childhoods roaming the walls of their former home, Brooklyn House. It was a safe haven for magic-inclined demigods, and one of the only facets of their pasts that remained intact after the Manhattan Disaster and the overturn of the Grand Election that set the country onto the course of fascism.

It was a relic, a symbol that they _did,_ in fact, have an origin, a place to remember. And in their world of so-called deviance, that is a rarity in itself.

Thirty minutes pass quickly.

Soon enough, Sadie is well-rested and able to adequately deliver the trio of demigods to the entrance of their stronghold. Annabeth's stomach churns with queasiness when she places a booted foot onto the rough asphalt, her limbs still a bit sluggish.

Traveling through the Duat is similar to swimming through molasses, only upright. All of her senses lag, failing to keep up with the quick motions of her body until it returns to the plane of reality.

Mitchell keeps watch. He surveys the abandoned streets of Manhattan with a sliver of suspicion, but the remains are even more disheartening than Brooklyn. There are no humans dwelling in this borough of New York City, only demigods. There are no Jumbotrons, no grey-clad, ichor-armed hunters stationed at every stoplight.

Only demigods.

There are hardly a handful of buildings left, only gifted survivors that force themselves to push on, living their lives beneath the cracked roads of a dead city.

_Only demigods._

Sadie kicks the bottom of an inconspicuous dumpster that's graffitied with anti-Agency sentiments (no doubt the handiwork of one of the Stolls). The resounding clang echoes into the darkness of the alley. Then she waits, taking a step backwards to sidle beside Annabeth.

The older blonde lifts her chin, casting her eyes upwards. Annabeth raises her forearm and holds it out, showcasing the inky lines that are tattooed into her skin, the small collection of letters declaring her allegiance (as if her scar isn't proof of her identity enough).

Sadie and Mitchell mirror her actions.

Soon, there's a creaking groan and the dumpster begins to shift. A gaping hole that's been hallowed out of the cement appears, an iron ladder glimmering in the darkness as it fades out, descending into the cylindrical chasm.

Annabeth can't withhold her sigh of relief. Her shoulders loosen, her guard dropping for a bliss moment. Already, she can almost hear the sounds of her comrades laughing and joking with one another. The moon is high in the sky. It's almost dinner time.

For the first time since she'd left with Sadie and Mitchell, the scarred blonde finds a state of mind that closely resembles peace.

_They're home._

**________________________________________________**

**Manhattan Underground | Chase's Office**

**[Song Tribute: Look to the Stars (With Vocals) - Christopher Haigh]**

"And you're _certain_ that they had bullets? It couldn't have been a trick of the light or anything?"

The responding nod is grim and flavored with an emotion that resembles fear and anger. "Yes, Praetor Chase." Gwen glances back down at her report, tearing her eyes away from Annabeth's. Her tattoo almost pulses with power beneath the onslaught of illumination offered by the fluorescents. "I could go more in-depth, but-"

"-Save it." Annabeth holds up her hand, silencing her momentarily. Gwen immediately stops talking, her cheeks flushing pink. "We don't need to hear your full report right now. Save it for tomorrow morning's debriefing. In the meantime, make sure Weaponry knows about the bullets." The blonde frowns. "Zhang's gonna want to hear it."

Gwen nods, gathering the small stack of papers that lie on the tabletop before her. She skirts around Mitchell and Dakota before vanishing into the hallway, already heading towards the arsenal. The door swings shut behind her.

Annabeth watches the pretty demigod leave before she addresses the remaining few that linger back. She glances over the small collection of bodies that wait for further comment, her mismatched irises landing on every one. "Like I just told her, I don't need to hear any full reports unless the matter is pressing. Also-"

Clovis yawns without shame, his eyelids beginning to droop. He leans against Mitchell tiredly, tucking his face into the crook of the pink-haired demigod's neck.

Annabeth glances at the clock. "You know what? It's getting late anyway." She scans them all, taking in the gruesome sight of ichor burns and quite a few sloppily bandaged gashes. "Report to med bay and then head to sleep. You all did well today."

Her comrades murmur in assent, gathering their things before heading towards the door. She watches with a near-smile as Clovis grins against his boyfriend's neck, his eyes fully closed. He towers over Mitchell, yet presses his weight against him as if his life depends on it.

"Thanks for everything, Chase," Clovis huffs over his shoulder. "It's been a real _slice_."

And then the temperature in the air _drops_ , and Annabeth stiffens, her heart sinking into her gut. The demigods tense as well, their eyes shifting towards her with recognition and almost _pity_.

Annabeth can hear him tearing down the hall. " _Where is she?_ " He demands. The atmosphere grows increasingly staticky, the hairs all over her body rising to attention as he draws nearer to his destination.

A very small part of her wants to crawl beneath her desk and hunch over, but the larger, more _prideful_ portion of her alights with the flame of anger and indignation. She steps away from the conference table and waits for him to arrive, folding her arms over her chest.

_And arrive he does._

Just as Clovis and Mitchell disappear from sight and hobble down the hallway, the door swings open.

Their eyes meet instantly, grey churning against piercing blue. Wind rushes into the room, scattering paper stacks and rolls of parchment into the corners like ash drifting through the air.

" _Annabeth,_ " he seethes. He grips the doorknob, the bandages that envelop his hands the only thing keeping the metal from vibrating with an electric shock.

She clenches her fists. _He's angry with her_. That much is clear. Annabeth doesn't respond, but she knows she doesn't need to.

Jason closes the door behind him firmly. The contours of his countenance are shaded with fury and highlighted by disappointment. His expression is hard, his emotions on display for all to see. Except no one gets to see him like this, mask pushed aside and passion bleeding through with reckless abandon. Only she does.

It's both a blessing and a curse.

Annabeth leans against the back wall of her office, watching as he stalks closer to her. Her attention falls to the scars on his neck, like claw marks. Small crevices in his skin, etched into both sides, the physical evidence of a raid gone wrong that had never properly healed.

Some of her anger encroaches upon the shores of guilt, simmering and smoldering and boiling, but the fury is much, _much_ stronger, so she ignores all else. As usual.

He speaks into the tense silence first, pressing his fists into the surface of her desk. "So," his jaw tick as he stares at her. "This is what we do now?" His words are tight, his joints even tighter. It appears that he's struggling to keep from lunging at her. "Hijacking infiltration missions without telling each other?"

Annabeth feels her eyes narrow, disliking his tone. Her scar begins to throb and anger, alongside a flurry of other emotions that she's kept suppressed for far too long, builds in her chest. "I won't apologize," she bites out, "If that's what you're expecting to get out of this."

She debates pushing off the wall, but decides against it. They both know what they're expecting to get out of this. She can taste it in the air, can smell his anticipation that's laced with fire. But this is just the beginning, the heated dance that makes the end result all the sweeter and more satisfactory.

"I can't _believe_ you." Jason shakes his head as he continues to approach her, skirting around her desk. "Are you _insane_?" His attention is fixed on the charred skin that rings her temple, the place where the agent had pressed the gun to her head.

She almost flinches. "I did what I _had_ to do, Jace." Annabeth aims an accusatory finger at him without meaning to (yeah, right), knowing how much he despises the action. "That's what I do. That's what I _always_ do."

And then, he's finally in front of her. His fingers enclose around her outstretched wrist before pressing it into the wall beside her. "You could've been _killed_." Jason's eyes burn into her, branding her with white-hot electricity. His irises flicker and flash like the sky during a thunderstorm. " _Killed,_ Annabeth _._ "

She shoves him away, knowing damn well he'll come back. Her eyebrows pinch when she addresses his words. "By those newbies? I think not. I _know_ what I'm doing." Annabeth scoffs, then. "I didn't tell you because I knew you wouldn't understand."

" _I wouldn't understand?_ " He suddenly looks like he's torn between whether he wants to tear her hair out or his own. "You're the _most_ _wanted_ demigod in the fucking country. Or have you forgotten about that stunt you pulled twenty five years ago?"

Something within her snaps, and she feels her emotions rushing to the surface. Before either of them can comprehend what's happened, Annabeth finds herself digging her forearm into his throat, pressing the taller blond against the wall.

She lifts her chin to stare up at him, her tone almost acidic. "It wasn't a stunt and you know that." Annabeth almost registers the brief appearance of guilt that is elicited in his gaze by her words. "It was a _message._ That roach of a president was keeping our kind, _our people,_ in cages at the border. I got rid of him when no one else would, when no one else _could_."

Jason shoves her off, but she continues. Annabeth pulls her hair away from her face, almost relishing the heat from the blood rush that floods the skin of her neck. "He was going to be our downfall, and I _refuse_ to let us die."

"I refuse to let _you_ die." He says, gripping her shoulders. Jason's blue eyes are verdant, his pupils dilating as darkness begins to swirl along the edges of his irises.

She falters, her anger ebbing slightly at his words. Annabeth's chest rises and falls and she stills in his grasp.

Jason scoffs, dropping his hands. He leans away, jaw ticking, and allows for silence to span the emotion-riddled air between them. For the first time, she notices how dark the circles under his eyes are, how large the bags are.

And again, he breaks the silence first. "What… what were you even looking for?"

Annabeth swallows, looking away. "I had to know, Jace. If they had anything to do with…" she trails off, unable to bring the syllables that have lodged themselves in her throat past her lips.

He doesn't require her to press any further. Recognition is chiseled into his expression before giving way to another round of anger. "And you said that I wouldn't understand?" A shiver rolls down her spine as sparks begin to fly from his fingertips. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?"

"You would've tried to stop me-"

"-Damn straight! Who knows what-"

"- _Let me fucking talk._ " Annabeth growls, cutting him off. Her hands grip his neck, shoving him against the wall yet again.

Jason falls still beneath her grip, his chest lifting and sinking and his gaze hardened. But he listens nonetheless.

Annabeth grips a little tighter, feeling her emotions thrum in her veins, feeling them leave her body by the second. Her nails begin to dig into his skin, but neither of them mind. Their chests rise and fall with each other, the lines between the two blending until it is near impossible to decipher where his skin stops and where hers begins.

They need this.

This is all they have.

They can only bare their emotions to each other. Only in privacy do they have the privilege to remove their masks, if only for a few moments. The process is always ugly, but the end result is satisfying. And that's what makes it worthwhile. That's why they continue to do this, after three and a half decades and enough heartache to last four lifetimes.

She swallows, pulling back slightly. "I know she's your sister, but I love her too, okay?" Jason's fingers enclose around her own and her expression sobers. "And I won't apologize for trying to see if they had anything to do with her disappearance. We both know that."

There's still anger in his eyes that has yet to be assuaged. Her best friend swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Annabeth leads him away from the wall, pushing him into the chair that sits behind her desk.

"But you're not angry about that," she continues, lowering herself into the edge of the table. "It's more than that." Her eyes narrow and she scours his face, already knowing the answer. "Tell me that I'm wrong."

His jaw ticks yet again (they both know she loves seeing it). "I don't feel like lying right now."

Annabeth hums and leans forward, her skin nearly throbbing with the urge to release the surmounting cloud of feelings that threatens to spill over. Her hair falls into her face, but before she can brush it away, Jason is already clenching it in his fist, drawing her nearer.

Their breaths mix, his fingers fiddling with the edge of her shirt.

Her hand wraps around his throat again, yet this time the action has separate connotations from the ones prior. It isn't fully removed from anger, but there's a different fire burning beneath it that motivates her. Annabeth crawls into his lap, seating herself inches away from the growing tent in his pants.

"I don't feel like it either," she admits, whispering into his ear.

He tenses beneath her before he tugs her hair backwards, forcing her neck to crane. Jason's grip on her waist grows tighter, his hands promising to bruise. "Good," he says, his voice rough. His fingers travel from the tangled mess of blonde curls that hang down her back to the smooth column of her neck. "It's about time."

The following moments are a blur. Annabeth doesn't remember much, only heated breaths and angry words that are whispered to each other as they shimmy out of their clothes. But before long, she finds herself sinking into his lap with a shudder. Jason exhales heavily, palms searing into her skin with electricity and white fire as they become one.

" _Gods_ ," she murmurs into his hair. Her voice has an edge to it.

And then they begin to move, rocking against each other roughly. Annabeth feels the weight in her chest begin to lift, if only slightly, as she tilts her hips again and again. Her fingers come to rest at the grooves that line his neck, his scars. Her temple tingles, her right eye throbbing.

She's angry. So, so angry.

And tired.

And broken.

She closes her eyes, and all she can see are a collection of pupils swarmed by varying shades of blue that haunt her, that taunt her. Fleeting faces fill the darkness, accompanied by the only names that she remembers from her past, from her childhood.

She yearns for escape from her ghosts, from the negativity that fogs her heart, her chest, her lungs. And Jason is that brief escape, the sole respite that she has. Her nails bury into his skin, drawing a hiss from his lips. She _needs_ this.

But nothing that glitters is gold.

So fifteen minutes later, when his hips tilt upwards in a final movement and he shudders beneath her and his fingers have laid too many electric bruises along her hips, spine, and his lips have claimed her neck along the hollow of her throat— the dips between her collarbones as well— and he digs a hand into her hair and whispers in her ear, " _I love you,"_ breathlessly and sated… she knows the words are not for her.

For such is the nature of their relationship.

They are but a coalescence of entangled limbs and rough thrusts, bleeding skin, bruised thighs, and drowned, cold-blooded anger that cannot survive without warmth. They are nothing but vessels, empty caricatures for the other to fulfill. They need each other, to breathe, to carry on, _to distract themselves._

There are no soothing touches when they collide to form their brief union. No romantic glances or shared breaths. Only scratches and bites and rough movements that can only be aired in the privacy between their jolting bodies as they push each other to their limits and beyond. They are anger turned physical, fury incarnate.

And when Annabeth pulses around him and responds in murmurs of the same caliber with a husky sigh, dragging her teeth up his neck while her fingers release trails of blood to drip down his back, he too knows that her words are not for him.

Nor will they ever be.

Not in the sense that she breathes them.

She feels hollow when she removes herself from his lap after catching her breath. But she's satisfied. And that's what matters. Annabeth exhales with a soft grin, tugging her damp blonde hair over her shoulder as she moves to pull on her clothes. " _Well,_ " she begins. Her lips are poised, releasing syllables that hang in the air momentarily before being consumed by silence.

They are drowned.

And still, Jason doesn't respond. He doesn't move.

She turns, eyebrows lifted. But when she recognizes the look on his face, her confusion disappears into a cloud of emotion that could be classified as humor, amusement.

Her fellow praetor stares at the marks that he's left on her body. His gaze, overflowing with guilt and remorse, travels from the hickies and finger-shaped bruises that collage the expanse of her neck and chest, to the furiously _red_ lines that pan across her hips and waistline. Annabeth is _sore._ And thoroughly spent.

She laughs, breaking both the silence and his concentration, while tossing him his discarded boxers and shirt. "You _do_ realize that you don't have to get that look on your face every time you're done with me, right?" Annabeth reclasps her bra before her eyebrow arches.

He flushes down to his Adam's apple, an action that opposes his demeanor from only moments before so vastly that it nearly causes vertigo. Jason finally stands, pulling on his clothes with a nod. "Yeah, I know," he murmurs to himself. Then, as further explanation, "I just can't help myself, okay?"

Annabeth hums, slipping her calves into her leggings.

" _Gods of Rome_ ," He gruffs while reaching over, reproachfully tracing the bruises that line her wrists. "What was I on?"

She almost succeeds in ignoring his remarks, but Annabeth has never been one to sit still in the face of absurdity. "You were angry," the demigod speaks to the rolls of parchment that splay over the desks.

"That doesn't excuse-"

"-And so was I." Annabeth casts him a glance out of the corner of her eye. She scans him for any signs of physical distress, and _hell_ , there are many. "You're in pretty rough shape yourself," she says to the bite marks and scratch lines that pollute his abdomen. "Don't die over it. We both know we're not made of glass."

He rolls his eyes, tugging on his pants at last. "Yeah, concrete's more like it." Jason stretches with a grimace. "It's like you took a cheese grater to my back."

She grins, glad to have broken him out of his bout of concern. It usually takes far longer, and includes talking him down from the ledge that hangs over the abyss of _safe words_ and whole lot of shit she'd rather steer clear of.

"I'll go see Will later and then you can put this behind you." Annabeth offers him a sincere nod, her fingers landing a soothing blow to his forearms. They're both fully dressed. "Really, Jace, don't worry about it."

His jaw clenches as he stares down at her, his eyes piercing and staticky. "I meant what I said, Annabeth."

"What are you talking about?"

There's a flash of old anger in his irises that she doesn't fail to miss. The same anger that had kickstarted their session in the first place.

Jason grips her shoulders, his eyebrows drawing in as he scours her face in earnest. "We're a team. _I need you._ " He drops his hands before leaning away. "Look, don't apologize if you don't mean it. But next time you decide to go on an impromptu mission… at least give me a heads up?"

She can't keep the grin from spreading over her lips. Annabeth flicks him, a laugh bubbling over. "You're such a worry wart, oh my gods. I _always_ have a plan." They walk to the door. "Always," she repeats, driving the emphasis into his heart.

He releases an exhale of acknowledgement. "Well, someone has to take on the role of mom friend around here, and it can't be Hazel all the time." Jason grips the doorknob and smiles down at her for a sparse moment before his attention lands to the scrolls of future plans that dapple the surface of the desks. "I'll leave you to it," he says, eyes bright and no longer clouded over with emotion.

He's ready to face the rest of the demigods. He's satisfied, fulfilled.

Annabeth nods, patting her best friend on the shoulder as he takes his leave. "I'll see you in the morning for debriefing and counselor meetings."

Jason only grunts in response, his thoughts most likely sliding to the impending trial.

When he's finally out of the room, Annabeth breathes out slowly. She presses a hand to her forehead, flutters her eyes shut, and attempts to dispel the flurry of emotions that still rage through her.

The emotions that Jason's presence can never seem to assuage or eliminate.

The blonde demigod looks over the pile of work she still has to get done and frowns to herself. "First, I need a shower."

**________________________________________________**

**Med Bay | 1 Hour Later**

"I see you two are still using each other as sexual punching bags." Will doesn't hesitate to cut to the chase, addressing the small wounds that litter her skin.

Annabeth doesn't respond while she shuts the door behind her, stepping into the heart of the infirmary. Everything is stark white, painted and stained. The lights burn her retinas.

To her left, she sees a demigod rummaging through boxes of medical supplies, his body language synonymous with discomfort as he pretends to not eavesdrop. His fingers scratch at the cardboard like an alley cat, attention trained intently on the interior bottom of the box.

The praetor then turns to the head healer, an eyebrow raised. Her voice is monotone. "Can you not air out my business like that? You're making Stone uncomfortable."

Walt backs away from the boxes, clearly blushing despite the pigmentation of his skin. "Don't worry about me, Praetor Chase. I'll be fine." He spins on his heel and disappears into the hallway.

She hums, watching him leave.

Will's laugh sounds from behind her, and she turns back around in time to witness him throwing his head backwards, his blond curls glistening beneath the fluorescents. "You should really invest in some _actual_ punching bags. I heard boxing does wonders for the soul." His eyebrows begin to waggle.

Her responding quip is reflexive. "I'm not into self-inflicted pain, Solace."

"No… not the _physical_ kind, I guess." Then, the healer gestures for Annabeth to take a seat on one of the cots, amusement evident all over his face.

She remains standing, cocking her head to the side as she studies him. His cheeks are pink, his collar stretched from pulling on it too much. Annabeth glances to the door that Walt had exited through before turning back to the healer. She lowers her voice. "Says the one in love with his apprentice."

Will jolts, freezing immediately. "I'm not in love with Walt," he protests sternly. The fuschia that paints his face begins to drain, leaving a blanche slate.

Annabeth roots her tongue in her cheek, disregarding his words as they hold no merit in her eyes. "You have feelings for him." She states it plainly, studying his body language.

The healer scoffs, mostly to himself as he gestures again for her to take a seat on one of the cots. "He has a girlfriend." Suddenly, Will is guarded, securing his mask in place as he collects his tools. Quietly, as if she can't hear him, he continues beneath his breath, "And they've been together almost forty years."

Annabeth ignores the last part. Her words are cool and piercing, a subtle message to the healer. "You didn't deny it, Solace."

The blond shakes his head, lifting his chin to stare at the ceiling. His chest rises and falls, his breaths accumulating to steady his pulse. "Look," Will begins, turning to her, "Neither of us are in any position to question our respective love lives."

"Lack thereof, clearly in your case."

"Just sit down, Chase." Will sighs, getting the message.

_Don't prod in my life, and I won't prod in yours._

The praetor finally obliges. She breathes through her nostrils as Will sinks into a rollie stool and slides in front of her, slipping on a pair of rubber gloves as he sobers. There's an air of professionalism surrounding him that doesn't coincide with his youthful features that haven't aged since the 'teens, but she knows he has the experience to back it. Three and a half decades worth of experience.

The healer stares at her with intensity, his warm blue eyes crackling with potency as he scans her face and neck. His attention lands on the ichor burn that mars the side of her forehead before it lowers to her bruised wrists and he frowns.

"I'm assuming you got this while you were out with Sadie and Mitchell?" Will motions to the burn.

"Yes…" Annabeth's voice trails off. Not necessarily with suspicion, but her tone lacks enough balance to keep his explanation at bay.

"Walt told me that Sadie was excited to get back on infiltration." Will shrugs. He reaches into one of the mini fridges that are stationed sporadically throughout the room, pulling out a small square of food. He hands it to Annabeth while continuing. "When Jason started asking around for you earlier, I put two and two together. Care to tell me how it happened?"

She bites down on the corner of the healing agent, hating the way it seemingly crumbles to ash on her tongue. A jolt of dissatisfaction lances through her, and once again, Annabeth feels that she's missing something, that this so-called _ambrosia_ (as Will demands it to be referred to) should taste… better?

The praetor forces it down and accepts the offered cup of water. After swallowing, she clears her throat and responds. "One of the hunters put a gun to my head."

His eyes widen. "So they're coating their guns in ichor now?"

She nods grimly. A very tired part of her wishes the whole world would set on fire, that humans would stop advancing and leave well enough alone. "Apparently they've started to make bullets too. We'll hear more about it tomorrow morning."

Will grunts, placing two fingers at the humming pulse in her wrist before gently turning her head to the side. "I guess it's only a matter of time before they finally come for Fort Olympus."

Annabeth swallows. "They don't have the balls to step foot in Manhattan. Not after the bombings of the 30s. That would be openly declaring failure, and the Agency doesn't do that. It's why I'm still alive." She pauses to roll her shoulders, wincing as her bruises shift. "Besides, their weapons may be getting better, but the hunters aren't. They've regressed, relying too much on their technology."

The healer hands her another square. Her burn is fading. "And what makes you say that?" His tone is as light as his hair.

"You should've seen them today, Solace. It was sad. They've gotten so predictable that I practically planned the entire thing from start to finish." The words spill from her lips before she can stop them, but Annabeth doesn't plan on stopping them at all. "Do you know how tiring it is to pretend to be witty? I'm exhausted," she admits.

"Why did you do it?"

The blonde shrugs again, feeling the gradually lessening ache. "It lowers their guards. The more I talk, the less threatening I appear… especially if it's all sarcastic. You should've seen his face before I snapped his neck. Pure. Surprise."

"I'm surprised you managed to make it that far without being discovered." Will turns her hand over, eyebrows pulling together as he studies her skin.

She drops her gaze, watching her wounds close. Annabeth's stomach grumbles but her eyes yearn for sleep. She shrugs. "The manhunt died down about ten years ago. I guess they just assumed I'd been dealt with."

The healer smiles to himself. Finally, he pulls away. Cool air rushes into Annabeth's lungs, unbridled by body heat and forgiving. Will snaps the gloves from his fingers before turning to her.

"Everything seems fine with you, Chase." He scans her one last time, his mind searching for any overlooked injuries. Once satisfied, he repeats his words and then, "Just make sure you get a good night's sleep and all that. You already know what I'm speaking of."

Annabeth stands with a nod. Her joints crack but she ignores the sound. "Thank you, Solace." Her words are sincere, filling the cavity that's expanded in her chest. Right now, all she desires is distraction.

So the next thing that she does after leaving med bay is head straight to sleep, despite the early hour, despite knowing the way that her night will pan out, despite herself.

**...**

Her dreams are all the same.

There's an aged depiction of Manhattan, draped in a summer's day haze, motionless bodies littering the streets, trampled underfoot by hoards of mutated _things_ (Levesque calls them monsters). Buildings line the avenues, abandoned vehicles guarding the sidewalks.

There's a black-haired boy beside her, teasing a kiss for good luck for the sake of tradition. His face is empty of any features but he seems to be young, skin browned by sunlight and dappled with freckles and scars. He dons an orange shirt and grips a bronze sword.

"Come back alive," she quips, her eyes focused on the horizon as her heart races. She draws her weapon. Her blonde curls sing as they sift through the wind. "Then we'll see."

She finds herself scared, _terrified,_ that he won't come back.

But then the scene shifts, and she sees _Thalia_ , screaming and struggling in pain, her blue eyes wet with tears as her legs are pinned beneath a crumbling statue. She urges for her to continue on without her, promising that she'll be okay.

Annabeth grips the hands of two boys, she can't see their faces, but it's all she can do as they dodge falling debris and rubble, the gold-tainted air staining with blood as the majestic roads tumble to ruin. She pulls them along, her arm numb, her chest heavy with bronze armor, as she _runs_ , runs for her life.

The scene shifts again and then there's _Luke_ , who stares at her with a sorrowful expression as he murmurs quiet words. He appears to be apologetic, his eyes a shade of faded cyan so deep but so dense. He then takes an offered bronze knife from a disembodied hand and quickly impales the skin above his upper ribcage with a sharp cry, the burnished blade sinking into his flesh.

Then there's a golden force that shoves her backwards. Her right eye stings, and the walls begin to crumble, the floor turning to ash. Luke vanishes into a cloud of flames, and before she can cry out to him, everything goes black.

**...**

Annabeth awakes with a start. Her body is damp with sweat, her bare legs tangled up in her sheets. Her heart slams against her ribcage with a fervor that would scare her if not for routine and expectations. She sits up slowly, head humming and scar throbbing.

A quick glance at the clock tells her that it's midnight exactly, but she'd already known the time. Again, routine and expectations.

Her mind feels hollow as she slips from her mattress, pressing her bare feet into the floors. The praetor approaches her bathroom, murmuring to herself as she tries to shut out the visions of the dream that's been haunting her for months.

_Thalia, Luke, black-haired boy. Thalia, Luke, black-haired boy._

She flicks on the light and grips the edge of the sink, staring into the mirror. Annabeth's skin rolls over with goosebumps and she shivers. An empty state of being lances through her chest, piercing the dark canopy of emotion that fogs over in her grey eyes.

_Thalia, Luke, black-haired boy. Thalia, Luke, black-haired boy. Thal-_

"Jason," she whispers. Annabeth's tongue lodges in her throat and she flees the bathroom. The praetor slips into a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, not bothering with a bra as she quickly gets dressed. She's left her bedroom before the clock can strike 12:03.

Her eyes well up with tears, a lump weighing on her sternum as she begins to roam the dorm halls of Fort Olympus, a very specific destination in mind.

_Jason will know what to do. He always does. He's my best friend._

She wanders past the canteen, disregarding the sight of Zhang and Valdez breaking into the kitchen. The East Asian flushes red when he catches sight of the blonde praetor, but the Latino boy merely flashes a peace sign and continues his work of picking the lock.

She almost smiles when the door swings open and Zhang releases a whoop of enthusiasm, his lips claiming Valdez's cheeks, neck, and nose before stating that Levesque will be "so damn happy with us, we did it!"

Almost.

_Thalia, Luke, black-haired boy. Thalia, Luke, black-haired boy._

Annabeth heads to the other side of the dorms, the soles of her feet burning from her quick gait. She arrives at the specified door and knocks harshly. " _Jace_ ," she hisses into the wood. "Please."

Jason appears almost instantly, as if he's been expecting her. His hair is mussed, blue eyes tired and stark in contrast against his bare skin. He's shirtless, dressed only in a pair of gym shorts that hang lowly on his hips, hardly covering the gentle, unassuming v-line that always seems to snag her attention when present.

"The same dream?" He murmurs softly above her.

Annabeth looks up at him, registering the concern that's filtered into his expression. She nods slowly, and takes a step forward before faltering. The praetor finds herself at a crossroads, realizing that this encounter can go one of two ways.

"What do you need?" Jason asks her, his expression so very telling.

She studies his face for a moment. Her heart beat can be heard in her own ears. Jason is her best friend. _But he's also a warm body._ And right now, that's what she so desperately needs: a one-way ticket out of the hellhole that is her mind.

And old habits are difficult to assassinate, given their nature.

So Annabeth only shoves him back into his bedroom, shuts the door behind her, and attempts to dispel the haunting images of Thalia and Luke coursing through her mind's eye. "Distract me," she breathes into the darkness, visualizing who his blue irises and blond hair remind her of. "Right now."

He doesn't ask for anything more. His fingers delve into her hair, searing through each strand before tugging them into his fist. Jason presses her into the plush of his mattress, his arms flexing with heat as he slides down the waistband of her shorts.

And then, after slipping them both out of their clothes, turning her over onto her bare stomach, his warm fingers enclosing around her throat as he lifts her hips and grips her waist, he does what he does best.

He lets her drown herself in something physical, gives her an outlet. He distracts her.

_From everything._


End file.
